


Sunlight Shining

by KE_R



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Fix-It, M/M, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Soft Richie Tozier, just babies i wrote for baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KE_R/pseuds/KE_R
Summary: farmers market reddie sunday. im just going to become domestic reddie writer and nothing else this is a dumpim manifesting go away
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	1. tomatoes and mango jam

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for (1) person but enjoy some edward n richard shenanigans i also promised my very own richard i wouldnt stay up too long so i stopped early

“Get up, you fuckin oaf. Do you realize you’re crushing my respiratory system?”

Sunlight shone through the gap in the curtains, hitting the wooden floorboards and various frames of pictures of them together. Eddie grumbled demandingly, the large form on top of him chuckling and only shifting slightly. “Dude, you’re the one who asked for it- Eds, c’mon, you love this stuff.” Richie’s warm (overly warm, in Eddie’s dishonest opinion), arms enveloped him, leaving him to wriggle and protest uselessly. He was obviously unaffected, but complaining was his forte. He also knew he would have to get up eventually, even if he wished to be trapped forever in Richie's loving embrace.

“Holy shit, Richard, I’m way too fucking old for this. Get off before- did you call me dude?” 

The early morning fatigue was starting to seep out of Eddie’s bones, and he grunted as Richie just laughed again, pushing the larger off of him clumsily. He shivered at the cold air rushing to his front, rolling over towards the man beside him. So maybe Richie had become his human blanket in the last few years; it's not like he was gonna tell him that or anything. Could you even begin to imagine the non-stop rambling about it? Eddie wrinkled his nose. How did he go from giving this idiot some tasteful sheets that weren’t oddly reminiscent of a bowling alley carpet to all this?   
‘All this’ being happily engaged and surprisingly content.

Oh, right, he said to himself. I’m a weak, gay man.

Richie let out a long sigh, stretching and groaning. “Man, I was just getting comfy, too. Y’know, Eddie, you gotta learn to have some patience. Like your good ol’ m-”, he was promptly cut off by a long groan as Eddie rubbed his eyes. “Would you like, shut your piehole, babe? It’s been thirty years. And the farmer’s market is open, I refuse to let Hank sell our favorite tomatoes out before we get there again.”

“Do you even like tomatoes?”

“Rich.”

He sighed, pushing down the pale yellow sheets in defeat. “Fine, fine, only because of Hank’s tomatoes. Because I’m hopelessly in love with them, not the grumpy man I sleep next to each night.” Richie righted himself, scratching at his cheek as he felt for his glasses on his nightstand, blearily looking in Eddie’s direction. As his vision cleared and his glasses sat on his uneven nose bridge, he caught his fiance’s soft smile, returning it with a wink for good measure.

Hell yeah. An eye roll.

Eddie turned to open the bathroom to brush his teeth and do his new skincare routine he had recently adopted, and to mask the growing smile on his face as he heard Richie stretch again. The white tiles and the blatant but familiar difference in product from Eddie’s neatly lined lotions and soaps and Richie’s random little bottles and tube of toothpaste met him with good spirits.  
The house he had with Richie was a haven of sorts; he was allowed to feel a little disorganized, a little safe and warm. Hardwood floors and dark accent furniture, clean rugs and the smell of lavender. He loved everything about it; the windows, the tall kitchen cabinets, even the weird little Harry Potter closet. It was his home. Sure, that meant that sometimes he’d find a random looking flamingo button up somewhere along the way, or sort through Richie’s purposely mismatched collection of geeky socks, or even the man’s own merchandise from his “Shut Your Trashmouth! “ tour, mugs with his little cartoon face plastered to them with their smug little grins.

The very same mugs Eddie drank his morning coffee in.

He had moved in nearly three years ago, after one thing had led to another upon seeing this socks and sandals fool show up to the farmer’s market where he shopped every weekend for vegetables to stock up on. He thought he recognised something about him; maybe it was the distasteful shirt, or unruly curls- one could even argue it was the ten year old sense of humour. Whatever it was, it possessed Eddie immediately, enough for him to quizzically, but confidently yell, “Richard? Richie Tozier?”, as loudly as possible at the mess of a man looking at oddly flavored mango jams, which he promptly yelped and dropped, leading everyone in the ten foot vicinity to jerk their head in the direction.

“What the fuckin- Spaghetti?”

Eddie just stared incredulously.

To this day, Richie swears it's because he short-circuited. “Imagine your childhood crush you escaped thirty years ago standing across from you in a farmer’s market you got lost in! How would you feel?”, he would say. 

Eddie spit in the sink, watching Richie trudge into the bathroom and move behind him, humming as he pressed a kiss to his temple. He watched the larger man roll his probably sore shoulders from working late last night on his computer, offhandedly thinking of working the knots out of Richie’s back later this evening while watching their movie. 

As though Richie heard him, just to interrupt his thoughts, he dramatically held the bar soap on the counter, pointing it less than threateningly at his fiance. “Just so you know, hun, I might leave you for an avocado today.”

Eddie grins, full of love and points the toothbrush in Richie’s direction.

“Challenge accepted, dickwad.”


	2. ironing giraffes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everything i write is very short i am Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for rich again IMSORRY its short but its for u :>

Eddie huffed, pressing the iron further into the ever-wrinkled sleeve of Richie’s giraffe button up that fit him a little tight on the shoulders and the arms. The little white animals seemed to smile up at Eddie as he ironed them out, flattening them and watching their legs unfold against the hot steam. It was the first thing he had given Eddie; of course, he had promptly stolen it back after learning how much larger he seemed to look in it. It was the shirt he wore on their first date out, and he had stood there, arms crossed outside the theatre- shivering, nervously biting his nails, and completely oblivious to the very shocked Edward gawking at him across the street. 

What the fuck? Wasn’t Richie supposed to be skinny and weird and lanky? Not built like a damn fridge. Especially one that looked that attractive in a shirt that didn’t fit him all that well. 

Eddie smiled down at the little figures as he raised the shirt to his face to inspect for any small wrinkles he had missed. “Y’know, Edward… you really didn’t have to shove me out of the way just to iron it. You could’ve just asked.” Richie was beside him in a moment, always seemingly teleporting places in their home; he moved way too quietly for a six foot two man with three Netflix specials. Eddie jumped, sighing in fake annoyance as he looked up at him. “Last time I entrusted this to you, my dearest, you nearly dropped it on your foot and burnt the house down. Need I remind you?” Richie grunted, crossing his arms in clear disdain. “Absolutely not, Edward, you do not. It’s not like anything actually got burnt down, man, I can do this stuff when I want!” 

After proclaiming a duel to see who could find the most attractive inanimate object at the market first, exchanging a hug or two and finally getting dressed, Eddie had taken to ironing the shirt Richie had thought he could get away with taking care of. 

Eddie grumbled. Who was gonna tell this idiot he just liked doing menial chores? “Whatever. I will not allow another incident to ever occur in this house as long as I live.” He pressed the collar, brows furrowed as Richie pressed another kiss to his temple. “I know you won’t honeybear. Now, please hand me the shirt that makes you bonkers.” 

Steam might as well start pouring out Eddie the Angry Gay Iron’s ears. “Wh- bonkers? Are you serious? Am I marrying a senior citizen? No, fuckhead, you look good in anything. Aren’t you the one who nearly cried when I borrowed your old Bloodwitch shirt from highschool?”   
Richie pressed a hand to his heart, wiping away tears that definitely had fallen at some point. “It was a dream come true, Eddie, you looked so mad. I could not ask for anything better than that.” He grabbed his shoulders as Eddie peeled the giraffe shirt off the ironing board, peppering his face with kisses. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for singing to Frank Sinatra while you dusted our fan.” Eddie smiled, mocking Richie with unparalleled love, and said, "Anytime, lovebug." Richie had laughed and just watched him from the bed, content in the silence to watch Eddie quietly finish ironing before draping the shirt over Richie's head, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Go get dressed. I'll get the bag ready." 

Ten minutes later, Eddie was scrambling to look for his reusable tote bag, grumbling as Richie watched from the couch with a croissant in his mouth. "Its gone. It is totally gone, it has ceased to exist entirely and I am losing it, Rich-",

“Did you check our room?” 

“Twice!! Can you believe I actually lost something? The day we were gonna be a little early for once, too….” Eddie rummaged through the laundry for the fifth time, throwing daggers at the various shirts that looked just a little too similar to the off-white cloth of the totes. Stupid laundry, stupid polos. This was prejudice. 

“Baby, looking at it like a serial killer from Criminal Minds will not make your purse hop out of the pile of our laundry.” Richie raised his eyebrows, watching the man turn around to glare at him instead. Wrong move, maybe, but Richie had never even come close to making Eddie genuinely angry. He was just too funny for that.

“Richard.”  
“Yes, darling?”  
“Richard.”  
“.....yes, Edward?” 

The standoff of Richie’s I-am-not-laughing-I-swear face and Eddie’s holy-shit-I’m-gonna-kill-you was one Eddie was slowly starting to lose, day by day. “Not funny.”

Richie grabbed the TV remote, picking up the last bit of his croissant and nodding in Eddie’s direction. “Y’know what would be, though?” Eddie was halfway into the hall closet, precariously balancing a box of paper plates on a picnic basket. “What, Richie?”

“If I knew where the tote bag was the entire time.”

The resounding crash that followed Richie’s barking guffaw sent birds flying off the trees.


End file.
